


Interesting Times

by liatnroh



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:34:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liatnroh/pseuds/liatnroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock make an accidental trip to discworld via ‘L-Space’ interesting times result.</p><p>Inspired by: http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/2262.html?thread=3444694 - t3444694</p><p>Beta read by the very shiny Glitterary</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interesting Times

Sherlock had spent the best part of the last week folded up on the sofa in various dressing gowns, alternately sulking the lack of a case and petulantly predicting the results of paternity tests on Jeremy Kyle and occasionally praising the presenter’s borderline sociopathic lack of empathy.

John’s attempts to relax after a long day at the surgery thus scuppered, he tried to persuade Sherlock to do something constructive with his time.  
‘Surely there’s some grisly experiment you haven’t attempted yet?’

Sherlock allowed his head to loll momentarily in John’s direction and sighed. ‘St Barts has ‘improved’ its record keeping. I’ve yet to locate a fresh supply of body parts.’  
John suppressed a wince at ‘body parts’. He had, of course, encountered corpses as a medical student and some horrifically fresh ones as an army doctor. But he somehow doubted that anyone would willingly leave their body to science if they knew Sherlock would be the scientist.

‘You could always… read, you know?’ John suggested.

‘I have read every single one of the 642 books relevant to my work, and _The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe._ I tried to delete it but it wouldn’t go.’

‘How can you possibly know what is relevant? You almost admitted the lack of astronomy slowed your last case considerably.’

Sherlock threw John a look of utter contempt. ‘It would take at least a day for ordered books to arrive, not even taking into account the vagaries of Royal Mail. Surely there are better things I could do,.’

John frowned. ‘What about the library?

‘The average library book has over 1200 different types of bacteria ingrained in its pages, due to the great British practice of always needing something to read during EVERY activity. I notice you yourself have what I shall charitably call ‘reading material’ in the smallest room of this flat.’

John eventually got an exasperated word in. ‘Sherlock! You dive into skips for cases, our kitchen is a certifiable health hazard and going by the state of your hair you haven’t showered in days. A library book isn’t going to give you anything you don’t have already. Shower, dress and for God’s sake brush your teeth! We are going to the library in fifteen minutes.’  
Fourteen minutes and fifty seven seconds later the front door of 221b Baker Street shut behind John and Sherlock as they made their way towards Marylebone Library.

‘It’s rather small,’ Sherlock remarked upon entering the library, but then John felt Sherlock would probably have said the same of the British library when he was this peeved. John silently suppressed the urge to mutter ‘no shit, Sherlock’ under his breath. It wasn’t in his nature to swear flippantly but somehow the phrase just sounded SO appropriate in his head…

Sherlock strode off down an aisle seemingly at random, John trailing in his wake. And kept on striding, and kept on striding, and kept on striding, and kept on striding…

‘You wouldn’t have thought the building would be large enough to have an aisle this long…’ John felt the need to say something to vocalise the growing unease the endless corridor made him feel.

‘It isn’t.’ Sherlock’s expression when he turned around was not in the least reassuring. Intrigued and excited in the unwholesome way normally only aroused by dead bodies.

John stared. ‘But surely it has to be; we haven’t gone down a level, so we can’t have accidently wandered into the stacks. Sherlock, what’s going on?’

Sherlock grabbed a book of the shelf at random and shoved it at John.  
‘Ye Magikal Propertae of Brassicas,’ John read. ‘Pretty unusual to have a leather bound library book, isn’t it? Not sure I like the smell of cabbages.’ He cast his friend a worried glance as he noticed that not only were the rest of the books present leather-bound, but that some were chained to the thick, wooden shelves. ‘Sherlock, where the hell are we?’

‘It’s odd. I always hypothesised fur coats followed by fir trees and snow.’ Sherlock said no more but continued along the corridor in growing excitement. Trotting after him John what was finally relieved to see an opening in the right hand shelf, and walked straight through it only to be confronted by something large and muscular with bright orange hair.

‘Oook?’ the creature put a large leathery black hand out and gently pulled _Ye Magikal Propertae of Brassicas_ from John’s tense and sweaty grasp. It gave a huge tooth-filled grin and proffered a banana at John, who he clearly felt needed cheering up.

Sherlock, having emerged with more caution, was standing behind John with a bemused expression.

‘John, we don’t have time for you to befriend an orang-utan and I’m sure there are quicker ways of getting your five a day. Come on!’

Sherlock swept a flabbergasted John out of the Unseen University Library and on to the busy streets of Ankh-Morpork.

‘Where are we? When are we? Where are we going? SHERLOCK! _Will you bloody answer me?!’_

‘Ankh-Morpork, 5th Grune year of the frustrated platypus, to EXPLORE!’ The skinny man sped excitedly off, almost skipping.

‘WHAT the FUCK are you on about?’ swore John loudly, and grabbed Sherlock’s spindly wrist and yanked him round to face him. Sherlock’s look of manic delight did little to calm John.  
‘John, we are in a city called Ankh Morpork. We appear to have arrived by unconventional means, however that is no reason not to investigate our situation thoroughly.’

‘Our SITUATION! What the HELL does that mean? Can we get back? Do you regularly go on trips to other worlds?’

‘John! We are somewhere _interesting_ for once! I’m sure with my intelligence and your sheer bloodymindedness, we will find a way back eventually, if we can be bothered. And no, I tend not to visit other worlds, certainly since forswearing certain substances.’

Despite previous experience, John found Sherlock’s certainty reassuring. ‘How do you know it’s the year of the frumpy Pineapple? And where we are? Are you sure you haven’t been here before?’

‘Calendar on the wall of the library. Given the punctilious nature of the librarian, he’d hardly have the wrong date up. We also just passed a large map entitled ‘Citie of Anhk-Morpork, containing a large red arrow labelled ‘ye be heare’. Incidentally, we are approaching the river’.

…

‘Makes the library books look positively antiseptic doesn’t it?’  
John and Sherlock stared out over the stinking and congealing Ankh.  
‘The methane burning off the surface is certainly a novelty, attractive blue flames,’ continued John sarcastically.  
With an air of experimentation, Sherlock lobbed a 2p coin onto the ‘water’ where it was rapidly engulfed in a green halo of flame. ‘I strongly suggest we stay away from the river, although I may take a sample back for…’ He trailed off seeing John’s incredulous expression.

‘Official thieves’ guild business. Hands up and give me 12 dollars or you’ll get a regulation bludgeoning.’ Both men turned to face the hapless thief, who was rapidly realising that they might not be entirely au-fait with the finer points of the thieves’ guild’s rules and regulations. As the thief was still holding up a large cosh Sherlock kicked his legs out from under him whilst John wrenched the cosh from his hand and tossed it into the river.  
‘Purple flames, John, most interesting…’  
‘You are _not_ taking a sample home. I’m fed up of being subjected to your experiments. The sugar bowl, Sherlock, is not the most suitable container for ferric acid crystals. Especially as they look suspiciously like Demerara,’ retorted John.

They walked away leaving the thief whimpering gently.

Sherlock and John wandered away from the river, drifting slowly towards what was clearly a poorer area of the city. There seemed to be endless alleys of people who passed swiftly and walked rapidly away from the two strangely dressed men. No one wants to be too close to a target, even if it does give the best view of the entertainment. The lack of people in an area obviously home to so many (possibly sleeping in shifts) was starting to unnerve John. He was used to urban battlefields in Afghanistan but back then there were rules and protocols. You knew what you had to do even if it was hard to do it.

‘Sherlock, does anything about this place strike you as strange? Where is everyone?’

‘Waiting in the wings, John,’ Sherlock purred, clearly delighted that his day was finally becoming really interesting.


End file.
